Lisa had been selected as part of the massed choir for the opening ceremony. Her sister, Kate, could barely contain her disgust. She was a better singer on every count—range, strength, expression. Lisa could hold a tune.
The day before the opening there was a dress rehearsal. A virus caused Lisa’s voice to falter. She asked her sister to stand in for her. ‘I’ll be forever grateful.’
So Kate went along, thinking perhaps she could sing her way into favour.
Each chorister had an allocated number. Kate found Lisa’s position.
‘I like what you’ve done to your hair,’ came a voice from behind. She turned.
A sandy haired man smiled at first then blushed. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.’
‘I’m Lisa’s sister. She’s not well.’
‘You’re a bit forward for someone who doesn’t even know her name.’
‘Well I was going to introduce myself today. You look a lot alike. I’m Rod.’
Just then the conductor called them to order. Kate sang with all her heart. Behind her Rod laid down his strong baritone like a sonorous carpet.
At the end of the rehearsal he asked her out. Lisa’s cold grew worse. Kate sang at the opening. With Rod behind her. Lisa watched on television from her sick bed.